


Starboy

by Jwink85



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Astronomy, Depression, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Stars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwink85/pseuds/Jwink85
Summary: Tweek and Craig are both in difficult places, but are they strong enough to admit that they might need each other? Even a little?
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 23
Kudos: 38





	1. The Way They Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything substantial in a while. This is a misguided and underwhelming foray into recapturing my creativity, lol. 
> 
> Enjoy ❤ hope everyone's doing okay

_"Please, look at me, just once. That's all I want."_

_I never cared about earning a star, Craig. All I wanted, all I needed, was you. That was always the case._

_I hope you know that, because it's the truth._

_I promise._

\-----

Tweek was new to the area, the strange, murky mountain town, where the distant peaks rose upward into mists and were covered with a lattice-work of lacy snow. 

The mornings were fresh like ice water when he walked to the local high school from the coffee shop his folks had opened on a whim - a pipe dream they'd always had and finally decided to act on. 

"It's a chance for a new start," his father had told him. His father, a nondescript man with brown hair cropped short and the beginnings of a paunch. "Maybe all of this will bring us closer together."

Tweek had glanced at his mother after his father had said that, unsurprised that she'd averted her eyes. She knew that Tweek knew the truth about the move, that it wasn't a lesson in family togetherness. Rather, it was more like an escape; a chance to run from his father's personal indiscretions, one of which that came in the form of a young secretary with curves like a treacherous mountain road. 

But he supposed they just weren't going to talk about _that_. 

They'd come from the north west, relocating from a small town close to Seattle, where they'd lived next to the Sound; a stone's throw from the gray-blue Salish Sea. It had been green there, and usually dreary, but when the sun shone Tweek thought it was the most beautiful place on earth.

South Park was pretty in its own, unassuming way, but Tweek couldn't help but feel like there was an undercurrent to the place, a darkness that he couldn't touch or explain, but it was there, throbbing beneath it all like a bloated vein waiting to burst. 

It didn't help that he was the New Kid at school, a face lost in a sea of faces that already knew one another. He usually felt invisible which he supposed was better than being noticed and terrorized for the interloper he clearly was. Still, it was lonely and humbling, the way he seemed to blur with the background whenever he was among his peers. 

"Hey, did you hear me? I'm talking to you."

Tweek looked up, dazed, having somehow become so lost in his thoughts that he'd managed to make it to school and to his first period class without even being aware of it. Then again, his father had always said he was spacey; forever wandering in a world of his own. 

"Hmm? What?" he asked, voice too high, too shrill. He sounded like a baby mouse. 

The boy who'd spoken to him seemed impatient. He frowned, the light falling through the windows catching in his eyes and making them blaze a startling green. 

"The teacher's doing the roll. You're Tweek, right?"

Tweek nodded, feeling stupid. He didn't think anyone even remembered his name. 

"Well, are you here?" the kid asked, slowly, like me was speaking to someone who'd just had a full frontal lobotomy. 

Senses catching up to him, Tweek had the presence of mind to know that the kid was talking down to him and he flushed accordingly. He nodded again but managed to say, "Yeah, I'm here."

Rolling his pretty eyes, the boy turned back around and spoke to the teacher. "Tweek's here."

"Kyle," the teacher sighed, but he didn't go on, shooting a glance at Tweek that he read loud and clear: _wake up or else_. 

Sinking into himself, Tweek felt very warm, knowing that his cheeks were probably the color of blood-red tomatoes. It never failed. 

"Loser," someone muttered behind him, and then a titter moved through the room. 

Tweek sunk further into his seat, wishing he could simply disappear. 

Lunchtime was a jungle, it had been the same way at his old school. Tweek stood at the edge of the crowd, plastic tray nestled in his shaking hands, and scanned the fray. He was looking for an in, a safe space, a bubble, but it wasn't immediately presenting itself. Before him, the room was chaos, people yelling and hanging on each other, the whole affair turning into a writhing, faceless mass.

"I can't do this," Tweek murmured, beginning to back away until he hit a solid, unmoving object. He winced and looked up, gaping at the leviathan looming over him, face impassive. 

"Watch where you're going," the guy said, monotone and deep and completely, utterly disinterested. He had cold eyes, chilled and a strange shade of pewter. 

"I, uh. That is, well." Tweek became still. He recognized the guy, vaguely remembering him from the back row of one of his classes. From what he could recall, he was usually disruptive. 

And violent. Unpredictable. 

Tweek's stomach clenched. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing and being punched into another time zone. 

"I'm sorry," he squeaked in his church mouse voice. "I didn't mean to -"

"Clyde, you stupid fuck, I told you to save me a spot," the guy said, ignoring him and pushing past. He lumbered to a crowded table and elbowed another kid out of a seat, taking it for himself. He threw a brown bag on the table and dug into it, looking up long enough to see Tweek still staring at him with wide eyes. He frowned deeply. 

"What's your problem?"

Tweek could feel the color draining from his face, making him become sickly cool; clammy. He began to back away, almost dropping his tray. The guy just seemed so _angry_ , and he wouldn't stop staring at him, his whole demeanor bombarding Tweek with a silent challenge. 

Finally, he couldn't stomach it anymore, the din, the crowd and chaotic heat, the threat in the other kid's face. It was too much. Tweek turned on his heel and scurried into the boy's room, dumping his tray into the trash and slamming into the last stall, locking the door and sitting on the toilet, head in hands; trembling. 

His thoughts tumbled over themselves, one right after the other; colored with fear and self-loathing, loneliness, but mostly he felt rage. Deep, pervasive rage; for being dropped into this situation without having any say, essentially being plucked up by his parents and deposited wherever they saw fit. It infuriated him. 

Impulsively, when his anger felt too big to hold, like it'd make his insides collapse like a dying star, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen, wanting to write all of his hate on the wall next to him; just fill it up with vitriol until he could breathe easier. 

He had just started to press the pen's tip to the wall when he stopped himself, too scared to continue; too much of a chicken shit to deface public property. At his old school he'd been pegged as a "good kid" by his teachers; unremarkable and quiet, but trustworthy. 

"Boring. I'm fucking boring," he muttered between gritted teeth. "A coward."

He thought of the guy he'd run into in the cafeteria, how imposing he was. When he'd knocked that kid out of his chair he hadn't fought back, he'd just quietly slunk away like a cowering dog. Tweek was almost positive that kid, with his cold eyes and the anger on his face, would have no problem covering the wall with every filthy word he could think of; every thought he had in his head, good or bad. He'd probably be completely comfortable opening up his mouth and telling his parents that he was mad at them, that sometimes, in his weakest, most honest moments, he even hated them. 

He, at least, didn't seem _afraid_. Not like Tweek. There was something to admire about that, wasn't there?

\-----

Dinner was always quiet in the Tweak household; quite a difference when compared to the lunchtime entropy. Instead of struggling to think amidst the tumult of shouting and clattering, Tweek and his parents were silent save for cutlery scraping plates and little sighs while they chewed. 

Eating for Tweek was a laborious affair. He viewed it as a necessity so he never really enjoyed it, taking to it like it was a chore. This facet of his personality annoyed his mother, who tried to soften her irritation with "well-meaning", passive aggressive comments. 

"You're just going to fade away if you keep eating like that," she said, spooning more potatoes onto her son's plate. She followed it up with a slab of pot roast. She smiled. "And I was under the impression you actually liked pot roast. That's why I made it."

"I'm not hungry," Tweek muttered, poking at a carrot with his fork. 

"What a surprise," she chimed, looking at her husband who didn't seem invested in the conversation either way. "Isn't that a surprise, hon?"

Like he was waking from a dream, he blinked slowly. "Hmm? What? Oh." He glanced at his son. "Eat up, Tweek. You're a growing boy and your mother went to so much trouble."

"Yes, so much trouble," she echoed, picking up a glass of wine. 

"I'm done." Abruptly, Tweek pushed his plate away. "Can I be excused?"

"You haven't even told us about your day at school," his mother commented before pouring more wine in her glass. "In fact, you've been very quiet about the whole thing."

"I hate it there," Tweek replied flatly. "I don't usually like talking about things that make me miserable."

"Are you even trying to make friends?" Mr. Tweak asked, setting his son's teeth on edge. "Or are you keeping to yourself and wondering why you aren't being included?"

"Nobody needs me as a friend," Tweek snapped, leaning forward. "They've all known each other forever... they grew up together. I'm just this weird outsider!"

"If that's your attitude you'll never fit in," his father said, helping himself to more meat. "Is that what you want, Tweek? I thought you wanted things to be different here."

"That isn't fair, Richard," his mother commented, her words softly slurred. "Tweek had friends at his old school." She thought a moment. "Or acquaintances, at least. Didn't you, honey?"

The words felt like needle pricks in his skin, and while he knew his mother meant well, Tweek wished she wouldn't try to help. She usually just made him feel worse. Standing up, he threw his napkin on the table. 

"I don't want to talk about this with you, so back off!"

"Fine, go hide in your room like you always do, but I still expect you to help out in the store tomorrow morning. It's our busiest time," his father replied, tucking into his meal again; seemingly nonplussed by his son's outburst. Their conversations usually tended to end this way. 

_Fuck your store, you cheating asshole! If you knew how to keep it in your pants I wouldn't even have to deal with this bullshit, but you're a selfish piece of crap so now we all have to suffer!_

That's what Tweek dreamed of saying, the words practically burning his tongue, but instead he made a strangled, little noise in the back of his throat before retreating from the room. He proved his father right by stomping up the stairs and into his small room, slamming the door behind him. Feeling vicious, he opened it again just so he could slam it once more, but harder. 

"Knock it off, Tweek! Don't make me come up there!" his father shouted from below. 

Biting his tongue, Tweek picked up a pillow and screamed into it; every word he wished he could say right to his parents' faces - especially his father. 

The next morning dawned cool and moist, the sky a stretch of gray that reminded Tweek of the Sound they'd left behind. He walked to the coffee shop under a red umbrella, his sneakers sloshing through puddles; earbuds in and his music blaring. 

It wasn't that he hated the shop, not exactly. If anything, he kind of liked it because it was cozy; warmly lit with small, round tables scattered about next to a well-worn couch in front of a fireplace. There were shelves on one wall covered with donated books and board games, and the air was filled with cinnamon scents and the aroma of toasted coffee beans. 

It was more that Tweek hated what the shop represented, the whole thing constructed on lies and subterfuge; his family running from the past even though it followed them wherever they went. It was supposed to be a beginning of better times but it wasn't, because nothing had really changed. They were still unhappy, but now they were merely unhappy in a new place; it didn't make any sense to him. 

His father was right, though, that the morning was their busiest time; people stopping in on their way to work or to run errands. Tweek didn't mind, wanting to be preoccupied with mixing drinks and keeping the coffee pots filled; plucking pastries from the case and taking orders. The hours passed without him being aware of them, which he considered a blessing. 

His parents were doing inventory when the morning took a turn, the rain picking up outside when the silver bells over the door tinkled. Tweek looked up from his phone to see an unwelcome face. 

An unwelcome, all too familiar face; two cold eyes balanced above a long nose and firm, frowning mouth, all framed by a dark blue hat with black bangs peeking out from under the brim; all touched with raindrops. Tweek clutched the counter, preparing himself to run if need be; stomach turning over on itself like batter being folded. The kid advanced on him slowly, wet shoes leaving marks on the clean floor.

Tweek didn't greet him because he couldn't think of anything to say other than "go away" so he remained silent. His fingers on the counter turned white from being clenched so tight. 

"Hey," the kid finally said in his weird, nasally voice. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. 

A dam of anxiety broke inside of Tweek and he couldn't hold back then, replying much too loudly, "what are you doing here? What do you want?!"

The guy blinked a few times and then the strangest thing happened. 

He _smiled_. It was faint, but a far cry from the angry scowl he'd had when first walking into the shop. What's more, the smile broke apart and he laughed; a barely- there, whooshing exclamation that Tweek could hardly believe. 

Becoming ferocious, Tweek almost growled. "What's so funny?!"

"To put it bluntly, you," the kid replied, the smile dropping abruptly and putting a touch of ice in Tweek's stomach. He felt fear overtaking some of his anger, uneasy at how quickly the guy could shift moods.

Moving back, he watched. "Why are you here?"

"Maybe i want to buy something. Ever consider that?"

Tweek narrowed his eyes. "Do you? Want to buy something, I mean?"

The kid shrugged. "Nah."

Taking a deep breath, Tweek tried again, pinching his arm to stay grounded. "Look, if you're here because of what happened in the cafeteria, I already told you I'm sorry, okay? Can't you just let it go?"

Now the kid looked puzzled; made evident by a knitting of his dark eyebrows. "Huh?"

Heat bloomed in Tweek's cheeks when it became obvious the guy had no idea what he was talking about. Christ, he probably didn't even remember him.

"Never mind," he said quickly, looking for a way to smooth over his embarrassment. He grabbed a cup on impulse. "It's cool today. Do you want some hot chocolate or something?"

"I'm actually here for an interview," the kid said, something in his demeanor softening. 

Now it was Tweek's turn to be perplexed. "What?"

The door to the back of the store opened behind Tweek then, and his father came out. He gave the newcomer a once-over before speaking. "Are you Craig Tucker?"

"Yes, sir."

Tweek gaped, still trying to catch up. He had no idea his parents were hiring anyone, but being kept in the dark was nothing new. 

"Well, come on back, then. We can talk in the office," Mr. Tweak said, giving his son a hard look. "Why don't you wipe down the counters while there's a lull, huh? If you've got time to lean you've got time to clean."

Tweek would've been content to fall through a chasm in the floor at being chastised by his father in front of someone like Craig. He bit the inside of his cheek, more words he couldn't say bunching up on his tongue. The moment was made worse by the amusement in Craig's face. 

"Can I still have some hot chocolate? That actually sounds pretty good," Craig said, almost playfully. 

Tweek scowled, further annoyed by the strange, little light that crept into Craig's eyes. Slowly, he looked at him before deflating slightly, aware of the tension that always seemed to be present in him these days, and suddenly he was just so tired; too tired to argue. Instead, he nodded. 

"Sure, I'll bring it to you in a little bit," he said before looking away. 

"Sweep the floor, too," his father said, already opening the door to the back and beckoning Craig to follow. "It's a mess."

_You're about to hire someone who punches people out in my math class. Just so you know. Oh, and acted like he wanted to kick my ass because I backed into him, but okay. Do what you want._

"Fine," he said instead. "Can I leave after that? I have homework to do."

Mr. Tweak gave his son a look that he knew didn't bode well. When he spoke next, he directed his words at Craig. "What kind of student are you?"

Craig blinked. "Fine, I guess."

"Do you get good grades?"

Against his will, Tweek became intrigued. He had to figure someone like Craig didn't give a shit about his grades. 

Craig shrugged like the whole subject was perfectly derivative. "I get straight As."

Gaping, Tweek stared at him, mouth slightly open and not bothering to hide his surprise. Craig must have noticed because he reached up to rub his neck, discreetly flipping him the bird while doing so. 

Tweek's stomach flooded with rage, both from the gesture and the fact that Craig was lying. He had to be, right? People like him weren't A students - that was undeniably impossible. 

"That's very impressive," Mr. Tweak nodded. "You should tutor my son sometime, he could definitely need the extra help."

"Dad!" Tweek yelled, finding his voice in a swirl of indignation. "I don't need a tutor!"

"That remains to be seen." He clapped Craig on the shoulder, urging him. "Let's go."

Craig glanced between them before he seemed to decide that leaving immediately wasn't the superior option. He gave Tweek another strange, almost knowing, look before following Mr. Tweak into the back. The door snapped closed behind them and Tweek had to stop himself from throwing a coffee pot against the wall. 

Instead, he made Craig his hot chocolate, all the while fighting his urge to add something foul to it; salt, copious amounts of pepper, that strange goo that sometimes collected in the sink after he washed dishes. 

Tweek refrained, berating himself for being a coward yet again, all the while wondering what it would be like to work with Craig Tucker of all people; apprehensive, but also strangely, inexplicably intrigued. 

Soon, the hot chocolate (undisturbed and completely innocent) was ready, steaming and fragrant, and without really understanding why he was doing it, Tweek added a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon. He reasoned that it was merely force of habit, having always made it that way for himself. 

Tentatively, he brought it to the office where his father and Craig were talking; well, more like his father was pontificating and Craig was listening. He almost found it amusing to see the glazed look on Craig's face, but managed to keep his own expressionless. 

"As for dress code, I think you'll be fine, but you'll have to cover your tattoo," Mr. Tweak said, pointing to Craig's arm. "I don't have anything against them personally, but not everyone has that attitude, you know? Better safe than sorry."

Tweek had just set down the drink when he heard that, eyes straying and noticing that, yes, Craig did indeed have a tattoo on the underside of his arm; a crude-looking star etched into his skin. Tweek couldn't help but stare, mainly because he'd never met anyone his age with an actual tattoo. He almost felt mildly impressed. 

This feeling died when he looked up to see Craig watching him too, and he had the same look on his face that he'd had when threatening Tweek in the cafeteria. Instinctively, he felt the fear curl up in his stomach like a creature nesting, ready to capitulate until Craig, out of nowhere, winked at him; quickly, before turning away. 

Now Tweek's stomach was fluttering, but it was an oddly pleasant sensation; very contrary to the fear that had lurked before. 

He also felt very confused, not really sure how he was supposed to react. 

"Tweek, did you need something?" his father asked, obviously becoming impatient. "We're in the middle of something."

Tweek just shook his head, slowly retreating. He glanced at Craig again but now he seemed unwilling to look back, carefully sipping his hot chocolate. 

"Well, go finish up out there and then you're done," Mr. Tweak said, essentially shooing him away. 

Wordlessly, Tweek did as he was told and left; snatching up a broom. It wasn't until he was halfway done with sweeping the store that he realized he was shaking, and what's more -

He was smiling, and not just a regular smile; no, it was a giddy, genuine one. It made him take pause, because it had been ages since he could remember smiling for real, and now it felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

And all because someone, someone he barely knew, someone he was arguably afraid of, had winked at him. Tweek stopped sweeping long enough to stare out the window where the rain still fell in relentless sheets, but it almost seemed to part like a silver curtain, until he didn't even notice it anymore; remembering and drifting. 

And out of nowhere, that strange feeling he'd had before returned and began to morph, to twist and change and become larger; growing on itself until it was no longer merely a curious, nonsensical intrigue; unrecognizable before Tweek could see it for what it was -

 _Anticipation_. 


	2. Coming (closer) Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm rather fond of stoic, star-loving Craig and self-contained, stubborn Tweek, I must say. I like them together, lol. 
> 
> Anyway, I had this chapter saved for a million years before I decided to finish it. I'm in a creative frenzy right now. 🤣
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for the comments on the last chapter. You guys thrill me. ❤ I hope you're all doing well.

School became strange after Craig got the job at the coffee shop, even before he'd really started working there. 

He'd been hired on a Saturday, which left the rest of the weekend for Tweek to agonize and obsess, as he had a tendency of doing. By Monday, he felt so uncomfortable and off-kilter over the whole situation, not to mention facing Craig again, that he contemplated simply not going to school. 

_Fuck it,_ he thought. _It's been forever since I took a sick day. What's the big deal?_

But when he came downstairs for breakfast, fully ready to plead his case, he was met with a dense cloud of tension. His mother was at the stove, scrambling eggs, and his father was at the table mindlessly masticating -

And that was all. 

But it was the way they were doing it, so silently, and so mechanically, and then he noticed the way his mother was shooting her husband murderous looks on occasion when she didn't think anyone could notice - or maybe she didn't even care if they did. 

It was so disconcerting, this atmosphere, that Tweek couldn't even imagine sitting down for breakfast with them let alone asking to stay home, so off he went - reluctantly, but willing to deal.

The rain had hung on, still smattering the sidewalk, giving off its fresh scent. The trees were waterlogged and so was the earth, and by the time Tweek got to school his shoes were caked with mud, and he was annoyed - annoyed and anxious and weirdly excited. But not the good kind of excited; rather, the tingly, jumpy, can't-sit-still kind of excited. 

He squirmed and fidgeted his way through his morning classes until lunch rolled around, and once again he was facing the pandemonium of the cafeteria. The only difference was this time he didn't have a lunch tray, being much too antsy to eat. 

And, even though he really didn't want to admit it to himself, he was quickly scanning the crowd for that one familiar face. 

Truth be told, he'd been covertly watching the halls all day, but only because he wanted to avoid Craig (at least that's what he told himself), not for any other reason. Besides, it wasn't like they really had anything to say to each other, right?

"Watch it."

Tweek was suddenly being elbowed aside, and then he was face to face with Craig. As always, he looked pissed, but for whatever reason Tweek was more flustered than afraid. He didn't know what to do with his hands, his arms, and before he could start flailing like a lunatic he wrapped them around himself. 

Craig looked down at him, once again wearing his blue hat, which Tweek wanted to comment on because the weather wasn't really cold enough for it, being late spring and all. He stayed quiet, staring back and chewing his lips. 

"What are you even doing?" Craig asked, raising a brow. "Aren't you gonna sit down?"

"W-what do you care?" Tweek asked, surprising even himself. Emboldened, he tilted his head defiantly. 

"It's a simple question," Craig replied. A look of realization passed over his face. "Oh, I get it."

"Huh?"

"You don't have anyone to sit with, do you? That's why you're always just standing around watching everyone. Now it makes sense." Craig nodded slowly, like all the pieces were falling into place. 

Tweek was surprised at how much this observation stung, not only because it was true, but because it was spoken so matter-of-factly. He was embarrassed, too, having not realized that his loneliness was so obvious. Desperately, he tried to save face. 

"Oh, you've got it all figured out, huh?" He snapped, feeling the burn in the back of his eyes; humiliated by it. He was not going to tear up in front of Craig Tucker. "That's great considering we don't fucking know each other at all."

"Well, that'll change pretty soon, right?" Craig asked, his tone remaining neutral, almost cordial. "Aren't you gonna be training me?"

"Don't remind me," Tweek muttered, feeling stupid for even entertaining the notion that Craig might be okay - in any capacity. But still, that nagging excitement continued to pulse in him; not dimming at all. If anything, it seemed to become more pronounced. 

He heard Craig sigh. "Look, I wasn't trying to be a dick just now. It was just an observation, you know?"

Tweek glared at him, hugging himself tighter. He didn't want to say that even though Craig hadn't meant to wound him, he had. "Could've fooled the hell out of me."

Craig's tenuous good humor seemed to be swiftly abating now, and all at once his expression darkened. "It's almost like you want me to knock you out."

Heart pounding, Tweek didn't back down. Thinking on his feet, he smiled slyly. "That wouldn't be very smart, would it? I'm almost positive my parents wouldn't feel comfortable hiring someone who beat up their kid."

Craig's eyes widened before they flashed in their customary cold way. He didn't respond. 

"Unless of course you don't want the job, in which case I can tell my father for you," Tweek added, relishing in this small amount of power, because honestly, it was the first time he'd felt somewhat strong in a long while; like he had any backbone whatsoever. 

He somehow ignored the trickle of guilt in his gut, spurned by Craig's reaction. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and held it up. 

"Should I call him now?" Tweek asked, a weird tremble working through him. He'd never really stood up for himself like this. It just wasn't his way. 

He gasped to feel a large hand wrapping around his wrist, but it wasn't tight; not at all. 

The touch was gentle, and he found himself looking into Craig's face, puzzled and searching to see the sudden vulnerability there. 

"Don't, okay?" Craig said quietly, and even though the cafeteria was a cacophony of sounds ricocheting around them, Tweek had no trouble hearing him. "I already told you I didn't mean anything by what I said."

Craig's fingers were warm even if his skin wasn't particularly soft, and Tweek was so focused on these sensations that he didn't answer for a moment. Slowly, he came back to himself, all while noting the stark differences between himself and Craig; the other's darker skin, the sheer size of his hand, the way it struck such an odd contrast with his own frail paleness. 

He swallowed when he realized how dry his mouth had become. "I wasn't really going to call him," he said, realizing this was true and not just lip service. "My parents probably wouldn't believe anything I said, anyway."

Abruptly, Craig dropped his arm, almost like he'd just noticed that he'd been holding onto Tweek for an unnervingly long time. Tweek drew his arm to his chest, rubbing it even though Craig hadn't hurt him at all. 

"Good, because I actually really need that job. I hate that I do, but it's true." Shouldering past him, Craig walked away, not looking back. As Tweek watched, Craig pushed a random kid out of a chair so he could take it, throwing down his brown bag. He didn't open it, though, instead folding his arms and leaning on them; remaining silent even when someone spoke to him. 

Tweek once again retreated to the boy's room, relieved that the last stall was available and the room was empty. He closed himself inside and sat, staring into space; heart still pounding much too fast in his chest. 

\------

The day dragged after that, and as it wore on Tweek began to feel guilty for how he'd acted. Craig was a thoughtless jerk but that didn't mean he had to act the same way. And the way he'd admitted to needing the job had hit a nerve that Tweek didn't even know he possessed; like it pained him just to say it out loud. 

When it was time for math, Tweek felt exhausted, taking his usual place next to the windows; watching the raindrops sliding down the foggy glass. His shoulders and stomach ached with tension, clenching even harder when Craig walked in. Their eyes caught for a moment until Tweek hastily looked away. 

He was watching a white light gathering behind the clouds when he felt his desk shake slightly. Looking over, he saw an apple sitting there, rosy and smooth. He stared at it, perplexed, before dragging his eyes across the room, landing squarely on Craig. 

Craig, however, was talking to someone on his other side; his desk situated at the back of the room and as far away as possible from the teacher. If he knew he was being stared at, he didn't show it. 

All through class, even when their teacher gave them a pop quiz, Tweek was preoccupied with the piece of fruit, the way it gleamed as the sun finally came out of hiding; falling on the apple and making the crimson peel seem to burn. He even covertly touched it once, though he didn't pick it up. 

When the bell rang, Tweek slowly gathered his things, still glancing at the apple on occasion, wanting to take it but strangely uneasy about it. He didn't know why it was there, whether it was a good gesture or a bad one, and while he assumed Craig had left it, that didn't mean he shouldn't be leery.

"Tweek, can I see you before you go?" his teacher asked after most of the class had already cleared out. "It'll just take a second."

Startled, Tweek managed to swim through his thoughts, embarrassed that someone could see into his head and view his crazy trepidation about a simple piece of fruit. He grew warm, snatching up the apple at the last moment. 

Timidly, he approached the teacher, knowing on some level that he should probably be worried. He'd always been terrible at math but he was doing even worse than usual nowadays. 

"I graded your quiz," the teacher said gently, holding up the paper to reveal a plethora of red xs slashed across it; a 'D' scrawled at the top. Tweek nodded but didn't say anything, his hand clenching the apple at his side. 

"Now, I'm not here to give you a hard time, and I know you haven't been here that long, but," the teacher sighed, laying the paper aside; taking care to flip it over so Tweek didn't have to see it. "I'm concerned, Tweek. If you're having difficulty i want to be able to help, but I can't do that if you won't talk to me. Does that make sense?"

Averting his eyes, Tweek nodded again. 

"You also seem really distracted in class," the teacher added. Silence fell and then she cleared her throat. "Is everything okay? I know being new here probably isn't easy, but -"

"It isn't that," Tweek cut in, not wanting to have this conversation. "I've just never been good at math. That's all."

She leaned forward, frowning softly. "Are you sure? I mean, if you need a tutor or extra help I can call your parents and talk to them about it; maybe set something up."

Now Tweek's blood was rushing through his ears as his anxiety jumped into overdrive. The last thing he wanted was to get his parents involved, especially when they were a huge part of the problem. 

"No, I don't want that," he said more forcefully than he really meant to. Reaching out, he grabbed his quiz. "I'll just work harder, okay? I can figure this out."

She seemed uncertain. "You don't have to do this by yourself, Tweek. There's a lot of people -"

"It's fine, seriously," Tweek said quickly. "I promise." Nervously, he glanced toward the door, aware that the halls were becoming quieter and quieter as the school emptied out for the day. "Is it okay if I go now? I don't want to be late getting home." Swallowing, he added a tiny white lie. "My parents worry if i don't come in before a certain time."

It was obvious she wanted to say something else but instead she nodded. "Yes, of course. I also need you to have one of your parents sign that quiz and bring it back. I just want to make sure they see it."

Tweek felt something inside him lurch, but he played it off. "Okay, I can do that."

"Be careful going home."

Waving, Tweek hurried out of the room, moving so fast that the halls were a blur until he broke out into the rain-washed air, rife with the scents of pine and drenched grass. He took deep breaths as he marched up the sidewalk, hunched and not really paying attention to what was in front of him. 

He thought about simply throwing the test away and saying he'd lost it, or forging one of his parents' signatures. He even imagined trekking deep into the woods and burying the test, almost like it would make all of his worries disappear as well. Crazily, Tweek indulged this avenue of thought, seeing himself with a shovel in the dead of night, hurling turned earth in some sort of crazed abandon. 

Which was stupid, he knew, but that didn't stop him from considering it. 

Finally, he slowed down long enough to give serious thought to his next move, and for whatever reason he found himself considering the apple in his hand. It was so pretty and unexpected but he didn't understand why it had been left on his desk. When he really allowed himself to think too deeply at all, he realized he didn't really understand anything about his life. 

Almost on instinct, he went to the coffee shop instead of heading for home, even though he wasn't scheduled to work that day. He lingered in front and looked through the windows, breath catching to see Craig there, speaking with his father. The shop wasn't busy so they were sitting at one of the little tables, paperwork laid out between them. 

Weariness caught up with him so he stayed for a moment, breath coming fast. He even thought about going into the store but something held him back, and when he pinpointed the reason, he was unsurprised to see that it was shame. 

\-------

That night, Tweek managed to avoid dinner with his parents by faking a headache. He also didn't mention the quiz because he didn't want to deal with their reaction. Instead, he lay in his dark room and watched the clouds finally roll away to reveal the sky behind them, deep violet-blue and littered with stars pulsing white and sharp. The apple was still uneaten, sitting pristinely on his dresser where he could look at it when the urge arose. 

He dragged himself to school the next morning after suffering through a morning of tense, hostile silence between his parents. He didn't know what was going on, but based on the way his mother looked at his father, he knew it probably had to do with his apparent lack of control and respect for fidelity. 

He couldn't escape quickly enough, but he walked so slowly he was almost late for school; sliding into his seat right before the last bell rang. His morning classes passed without incident, thank goodness, but that didn't make him any less listless or apprehensive. 

By lunchtime, Tweek felt nervous enough to snap, thinking endlessly of his math class and the unsigned quiz, knowing the teacher would ask for it and what could he say in his defense? Sorry, I didn't tell my parents about my grade because I think I might hate them? I'm afraid of how they'll respond?

Or, he hated to admit, even to himself, that he couldn't stand to disappoint them because he already felt like he'd disappointed them enough? 

No, that'd never do. The teacher would think he was just being dramatic or making excuses. 

"You're doing it again," a familiar voice spoke behind him, making Tweek turn. Craig was there, watchful but stoic. 

"Am I?" Tweek asked, too tired to argue. He paused. "Doing what, exactly?"

"Standing and watching everyone," Craig replied, gesturing to the room. He peered at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you okay?"

Tweek lifted a shoulder, wincing at the tension in his muscles. "I'm tired."

"I can tell," Craig replied bluntly. "Are you going to eat today, at least?"

"Why do you even care?"

Craig's expression became even more inscrutable. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

Nervously, Tweek toyed with the apple in his pocket, deciding whether or not he should bring it up. Studying Craig's face, he finally decided to bend a little, to preserve his energy more than anything else. He pulled it out, the glossy, fiery fruit held loosely in his hands. 

"Why didn't you eat it?" Craig asked immediately, almost sounding annoyed. 

This response told Tweek everything he needed to know, and for whatever reason the knowledge made him feel lighter, almost buoyant. He answered truthfully, in a softer tone, "I don't know. Maybe I wanted to save it."

Craig sighed, but it seemed weary instead of an indication of annoyance. "I didn't give it to you because I wanted you to save it. I wanted you to eat it."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? You didn't have lunch yesterday, right?"

Tweek sunk his nails into the apple's firm flesh. "How do you know that?"

Craig rolled his eyes. "I'm fucking clairvoyant, Tweek. Jesus. I saw you run into the bathroom empty-handed and I figured-"

He shook his head, becoming agitated. "I guess I just assumed, okay? What, is that a crime?"

Tweek looked up. "No. I guess I just don't understand."

Craig dragged a hand over his mouth and it seemed like he nearly smiled, but his expression remained detached. "Neither do I."

\-----

Desperation made Tweek turn to deception later that day, making him feign a stomach ache in his next to last period class, right before math, and he was allowed to go to the nurse's office. 

"Well, you don't have a fever," the nurse said, checking the thermometer with raised eyebrows. She glanced at Tweek and frowned. "You do look a little pale, though. Do you think it's something you ate?"

Tweek nodded, feeling slightly guilty at piling on another lie; after all, he hadn't eaten lunch. The apple Craig had given him was still safely tucked in his pocket. 

"Okay, you can lie down for a while," she said, pointing toward a little cot in the corner. "I'll check on you in a little bit, okay?"

Relieved, Tweek retreated to the cot, covered in blinding white sheets; a scratchy blanket was folded and laid on the foot. He shook it out and drew the curtain around the bed before lying down. The afternoon passed quietly as he dozed, listening to kids come in and out of the office; complaining of headaches and injuries acquired during gym class. 

Before he knew it, the bell was ringing, shrill like a scream. He started up and looked around, groping for the curtain and pulling it back tentatively. He peered out to see the nurse at her desk, poring over paperwork. Looking up, she seemed surprised. 

"You're still here? Gosh, I forgot all about you because you're so quiet. Are you feeling any better?"

"I guess." He felt less sleepy, he supposed, but the worry was still there; compounded because he'd only managed to delay the inevitable. He'd deal with that when he had to, though. 

"Last period just ended," she said, turning back to her work. "You can go on home. Take it easy."

Out on the street, Tweek rubbed his face, warm from sleep, as he walked to the coffee shop. He was scheduled to work that day; not just that, he was slated to begin training Craig. Slowing down, he dragged his feet all the way; uneasy even if Craig hadn't been completely awful to him that day. Or yesterday.

Not exactly, anyway. 

Still, he found himself clenching his hand around the apple in his pocket when he walked into the shop; hushed and quiet, save for the bells tinkling above the door. 

Craig was already there, dressed in what Mr Tweak had probably already assessed as "acceptable work attire": long-sleeved dark blue shirt -

 _To cover up his tattoo_ , Tweek thought. 

\- jeans, and the standard Tweak Bros green apron over top. He wasn't wearing his hat, and the gold lights over the coffee station glinted off his dark hair; carelessly swept off of his forehead. Tweek's father gave him a look of disapproval when he approached. 

"Glad you could join us," he said. "You'll see Craig was right on time. Early, even."

"Sorry," Tweek muttered, laying his bag aside and removing his sweater, hanging them up. He made sure he could see the bulge of the apple in his sweater pocket as he put on his apron and tied it. "I didn't feel good so I was in the nurse's office during last period. I fell asleep."

"Great," his father said, becoming grim. "You didn't catch something, did you? I can't have you working around the food if -"

"I'm fine," Tweek cut in, clocking in at the register. "My stomach hurt but it's nothing. I can work, okay?"

"Fine," Mr Tweak replied, not seeming all together convinced. Just then, Tweek's mother came out of the back; carrying a tray of pastries that she set on the counter. Her face was closed-off, her lips pressed tightly together. 

"Tweek went to the nurse at school," Mr Tweak told her. 

She looked up, a flash of concern in her eyes, but that wasn't before she looked at her husband with scarcely concealed irritation. She came over to Tweek and, ignoring the way he pulled back, touched his forehead. 

"The flu's been going around," she said, laying her cool hand on his cheek now. "I hope you didn't catch it."

Through it all, Tweek could feel Craig observing, and he regretted telling his parents the truth. He jerked away, annoyed at being prodded.

"It's not the flu, mom. My stomach hurt and now it doesn't. Don't blow things out of proportion."

She seemed to stiffen at his seeming rejection, and for a moment she looked at Tweek the way she'd looked at her husband just a second before; the similarity making Tweek uneasy. He began to feel uncomfortably hot, a touch of sweat cropping up on the back of his neck. 

"It's because you don't take care of yourself," she said, turning away. "Never eating properly, even though i try to make sure you have the right things to eat. You just don't want them."

The subtext wasn't lost on Tweek: _You just don't want me, either. Even though I do so much for you. Ungrateful._

"Mom, look, I -"

"Put these away before the evening rush starts," she interjected, pointing to the tray. "Your father and I have to do inventory in the back. Don't we, dear?"

"Right as usual, hon," he replied, lips pulled back in what looked like a grimace instead of a smile. "Think you boys can handle yourselves?"

Tweek stayed quiet, having had his fill of conversation with them for the moment. Craig stepped in, showing a surprising amount of grace. 

"We've got this, Mr. Tweak. Don't worry." He moved closer to Tweek, almost eclipsing him from his parent's view. 

Tweek was thankful that the task they'd been given didn't really lend itself to conversation. It was simple, after all; the pastry case was labeled with where everything needed to go, so it was merely a matter of placing the confections in their designated spots. 

"Is this chocolate chip or blueberry?" Craig asked, holding up a muffin. This was after they'd been working quietly for about 10 minutes. 

Tweek glanced at it, practiced eye picking up the faint purplish blue seeping into the golden cake. "Blueberry."

"Got it," Craig replied, plunking the muffin down. After that, they didn't talk until right before finishing, when Craig asked:

"Are we allowed to eat any of these? Without paying for them?" 

Tweek tried not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, if you wanna get fired. We get a 20% discount."

Craig nodded, but Tweek got the distinct impression that they were getting ready to experience the suspicious disappearances of several baked goods over the coming weeks. He brushed it off, deciding it wasn't really important enough to worry about. In fact, the idea kind of tickled him. 

"My mom bakes them all from scratch," he offered, wanting to give her some credit. From the outside, Craig probably just assumed he was a bratty son; resistant to his mother's concern. "It's really important to her, making sure everything is fresh. Not pre-made like a lot of places."

Craig took this in, studying the case. Without being asked, he picked up a rag and some windex and began wiping it down. "That's pretty cool. My mom isn't much of a cook. I mean, she tries, but she doesn't want to follow a recipe... she just wants to throw a bunch of stuff together and hope it turns out okay." Kneeling, he scrubbed at a spot on the bottom of the case. "That's if she feels like cooking at all... she's not always up to it, you know?"

It was then that they're first cluster of customers wandered in, and Tweek didn't have a chance to ask Craig what he meant exactly; intrigued by this small glimpse into his personal life. Instead, they found themselves in the thick of things and Tweek was very grateful that Craig was a fast learner, picking up things at a rapid pace. 

The evening passed smoothly enough, the shop being busier than usual, but together they managed; Tweek showing Craig how to work the register and prepare the more complicated drinks. Soon they'd worked up a rhythm, and by the end of it all Tweek was surprised that the time had gone so quickly, and what's more, his stomach and nerves weren't a tightly bunched tangle of anxiety. 

That is, until it was time to count up the money in the register and they were twenty dollars short. No matter how Tweek figured it, he couldn't make the money balance. It was with hesitation and gnawing unease that he admitted this to his father, who placed his clipboard down on the counter very carefully; a staggering amount of aggression evident in the small gesture, Tweek knew. 

His father always became very deliberate when he was particularly angry. 

"Are you counting back all the change? Every time?" he asked quietly. He began gathering the money to count it himself after checking the closing receipt. 

"Yes, of course, and Craig watched," Tweek replied, covertly moving away. He didn't like being close to his father in situations like this. Not because he'd strike him, of course; that wasn't his father's way, but the tension was stifling. "He didn't cash anyone out, though. It was all me...I know you don't want new people doing that until -"

"I'll have to look into this," his father said, dismissing Tweek's words like they were bothersome flies. "Just know that if it doesn't balance the missing money is coming out of your next check. You need to pay closer attention; don't I tell you that all the time?"

Swallowing thickly, Tweek nodded wordlessly, the embarrassment of the moment nearly as stifling as his father's muted anger. It would've been humiliating enduring this alone, but with Craig right there, watching... this fact added to the worry about his unsigned quiz made Tweek curl up with dread inside. 

"It's getting late," Mr Tweak sighed, glancing between the pair. "You should probably head on home. Craig, how was it?"

Craig was impassive, but there was a spark in his eyes that told Tweek his outside didn't necessarily match his inside; he was keeping it contained for the sake of appearances. 

"It was fine. I like keeping busy, sir."

Tweek's father nodded. "Good grades, hard worker. Punctual." He glanced at his son. "Maybe he'll be a positive influence, huh?"

Thoroughly done, Tweek didn't respond, opting to turn and grab his sweater and bag instead, not bothering to stop and put them on before heading for the exit, needing fresh air; needing a moment to cry if that became necessary. The cool air hit his face and he drank it in, hurrying down the street without regard for where he was headed. 

He'd made it about two blocks before he heard footsteps behind him, and he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him back. Terrified, he turned to see Craig there, panting and leaning over with his other hand on his knee. 

"Jesus, you're fast," he gasped out. "You're like the fucking roadrunner over here."

"W-what do you want?" Tweek asked, moving away so Craig couldn't touch him anymore; the contact had been too warm, too confusing. "Did my dad tell you to come get me, because I'm not going back there tonight."

"Fuck that," Craig said, straightening up and adjusting his hoodie; blue and oversized. He was wearing his hat again. "Your old man doesn't have anything to do with this."

Tweek stared. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I was planning on going out to the pond tonight to clear my head," Craig said, tilting his head to look at the stars. "The sky is finally clear again and it'd be the perfect night to see the stars." He looked at Tweek, nearly expressionless. "You know?"

He didn't know, but Tweek didn't want to seem difficult. "Where's the pond?"

"Out past the woods. We can walk there," Craig said, gesturing vaguely with his head. He paused, jamming his hands in his pockets and looking down at Tweek with a subdued curiosity. "Unless you had other plans."

"Do i look like i have other plans?" Tweek asked before he could help himself. 

Deadpan, Craig blinked slowly. "No, and I figured with the asshole way your dad talked to you just now, you might need to get out for a while."

Face burning, Tweek chewed the inside of his cheek. Leave it to Craig to get right to the point. He sighed, considering the sky himself, and saw that the stars were almost impossibly, beautifully bright. "Sure, why not? It's better than going home."

The walk to the pond was quiet, Craig only speaking when he felt the need to point something out; their breath showing up in the air in white puffs as the temperature dropped. It wasn't long before the town fell away and they were walking through the dark woods, the trees filled with blue-violet shadows. The ground beneath them was a carpet of pine needles, filling the air with their spicy scent when crushed under the weight of the pair's sneakers. 

"See?" Craig said when they reached the pond, a dilapidated sign on the bank telling Tweek the small moon-frosted stretch of water was called "Stark's Pond". Its surface was a mirror, almost eerily calm, the banks studded with grass and clutches of wildflowers. Suddenly, he tugged on Tweek's sleeve. "Over here, come on."

Tweek followed, his shoes sinking into muddy spots until Craig stopped, and there before them was a lopsided structure comprised of weathered boards. It listed to one side, like it was drunk; tucked back into a clearing very close to the edge of the woods. 

Tweek stared at it, vaguely creeped out. He could imagine a drifter taking shelter there, and while he didn't have anything against a person down on their luck, that didn't mean he was comfortable meeting them by chance in the middle of the night. 

"Don't make that face," Craig laughed, and it sounded genuine. "We worked really hard on this when we were little... I've just refurbished it to suit my tastes."

"Oh, I get it," Tweek replied, daring to come closer now. "You made this with your friends?"

Going into the little fort, because Tweek could see now that that was what it was, a child's version of shelter, Craig retrieved a small lantern. Setting it on a stump, he went about lighting it, doing it with such ease that Tweek had to assume he'd done it many, many times before. Soon it was casting warm orange light into the woods, and Tweek was able to see the fort's interior better. 

"Go on, it's safe," Craig said, placing a hand on the small of Tweek's back. 

Tweek obeyed, ducking his head when entering a doorway designed for someone much shorter, eyes adjusting to the dimness. Meanwhile, Craig lit another lantern, and the fort was comfortably visible. 

The walls were plastered with posters, some tattered and others clean and new, showcasing a myriad of interests: anime, bands, movies, naked girls -

"Really?" Tweek asked, pointing to a large breasted woman lying on a white beach, naked as a jaybird.

"Those are Clyde's," Craig said easily, fishing something from a black case: a pair of expensive-looking binoculars. He held them up and grinned, appearing boyish and unguarded. "My pride and joy."

Tweek nodded, still looking around, taking note of everything he saw, sun-damaged, crinkly magazines, Magic the Gathering decks, a red cooler in the corner; crates to sit on, he supposed, ashtrays with cigarette butts, beer and liquor bottles -

"Do you spend a lot of time out here?"

Craig shrugged. He was polishing the binoculars' lenses. "As much as I can."

"Just you?"

"The other guys come out sometimes, but yeah, I'm usually alone. I like it that way." He peered through the binoculars, frowned, and then went back to polishing them. "Hey, if you're gonna ask me so many questions, can I ask you one?"

Uneasy, Tweek sat on a crate and slowly placed his hands in his pockets, comforted when he touched the apple. "Sure, I guess."

"Why'd you skip math class? We didn't have a test or anything today."

Tweek bristled, scraping his shoes together. "Who said i was skipping?"

Craig looked up to study him, that same unsettling light in his eye; shrewd, knowing. "So you were actually sick?"

"Maybe."

He sighed before looping the binoculars' strap around his neck. "Tweek, man, cut the crap, okay? Let's be straight with each other."

Tweek wanted to ask him why he even cared, why they needed to be anything with each other, but there was something about Craig's interest that made him feel weak. It was a nice feeling, actually having someone go out of their way to ask him what was going on in his life; just out of interest.

Maybe he even _cared_. 

"Fine," he muttered, yanking open his bag to grab out the quiz, averting his eyes when he handed it over; not wanting to see all the red xs on it, and more importantly, Craig's face when he saw how poorly Tweek had done. 

Craig accepted it, and minutes passed in quiet. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

"Big deal. Anyone can bomb a quiz."

"It isn't just that," Tweek said, still looking down. "I have to get it signed by my parents, and -"

"Ah," Craig said quietly, seeming to catch onto Tweek's distress quite easily. Why shouldn't he, though? He'd met Tweek's parents. He clucked his tongue. "Just forge your dad's signature or whatever. I do it all the time."

Tweek snapped his head up, eyes wide. "I couldn't do that! What if I got caught, and besides," he worried his hands, aware of how childish he sounded, "It's wrong. It's lying. I try not to do that if I can help it."

Craig gazed at him, the lanterns guttering and throwing their shadows. It went on for so long that Tweek began to fidget, too warm inside his clothes, more aware of his body than he'd been in a very long time -

"Do you have something with your dad's signature?" he asked, coming over and clearing some space off a large carton. He settled onto his knees and looked up at Tweek expectantly, waiting. 

Tweek was slow to respond but he nodded, feeling sluggish. "I think so."

"Well, give it to me, and a pen."

Tweek did, fishing out an old paper from when he'd registered for school, his father's loopy signature on the bottom. He handed this and a pen over, watching with fascination as Craig went to work, practicing the intricate scrawl over and over until his version was nearly identical to the original. 

With a flourish, he held up the quiz so Tweek could see, emblazoned with his "father's" signature. "Check that shit out. It's some of my best work."

"B-but, it's dishonest," Tweek stammered, taking the paper and holding it in his twitchy hands. 

"So is lying to the nurse to get out of math class," Craig said smoothly, clicking the pen over and over. "Besides, you didn't write it, I did. The blood is on my hands. And," he added, "It'll buy you some time while I teach you how to do this stuff."

Now Tweek wasn't really sure what to say. He fretted, wondering if Craig was yanking his chain, because there was absolutely no reason for him to help him like this, and they both knew it. 

"Why?" he asked faintly. "You don't have to."

"Maybe that's why," Craig said, setting the binoculars aside. "Get over here, and grab your math book. What page are we on, anyway, i don't really need to use mine very much."

"Oh," he added, pinning Tweek with his eyes again, low-lit from the orange blooms of the lanterns. "You still have that apple, right?"

Tweek nodded, slowly drawing it out; now slightly bruised from being jostled and carried in his pocket; held too much. 

"Figures," Craig said, but he didn't berate him. Rather, he settled more comfortably, pushing his hat back. "If i share it with you, will you actually eat some of it?"

Instead of speaking, Tweek offered him the apple, watching intently as Craig took a bite, teeth breaking the peel and revealing the yellow-white fruit within. He chewed, handing it back and waiting. 

Sighing, Tweek studied the apple, the little teeth marks Craig had left and lifted it, bringing it to his mouth; aware of its scent before the fruit had touched his lips. Closing his eyes, he bit into it, warm from being carried and a little too soft, but he savored its flavor on his tongue; satisfying in its almost unbearable sweetness.


End file.
